


First Position

by babyvfan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ballet, Ballet Teacher Harry Potter, Breaking down gender norms, Divorced Draco Malfoy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Single Parent Draco Malfoy, Student Scorpius, Winter, adorable Scorpius, ballet class, holiday fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28204695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyvfan/pseuds/babyvfan
Summary: Of all the ballet studios in the world for his son to be enrolled in, Draco just had to pick the one run by Potter. Fate truly hated him
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 62





	First Position

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SasuNarufan13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SasuNarufan13/gifts).



> When I tell you how long I've been sitting on this story idea for now 3 years now, please believe me. 3 years I've been sitting on this idea, wanting to make it into a story but finding time slipped away faster than I could blink. But thankfully it is here
> 
> This is a Christmas fic (well gift intended) for SasuNarufan13, who've been going through SO MUCH but is still out here, putting her all into studies as well as her stories she graciouslt shares. Melissa, I hope this story brings you that extra warm, cozy feel this Christmas.
> 
> Massive thanks to my amazing bestie, Sammie aka dreamydrarry for putting together this amazing edit.

_***************************************************************** _

_**Draco,** _

_**I know at this point I should stop with the letters. It's clear that half of the ones I sent before are doubtlessly stacked up on your desk, collecting dust with the rest of your useless trinkets. While the other half gets thrown into the fireplace, keeping your office all nice and warm.** _

_**Don't even try to deny it. I always catch the whiff of smoke clinging onto Scorpius's clothes whenever he comes over.** _

A slight smile touched the corner of his face, trying to lift up into a smile.

It was comical how of all things for Astoria to notice in the midst of her new life in Italy, with her new career, with her new husband and new baby on the way, that was one of the few things she actually took notice of. Along with the fact that she was right about the letters. A good number of them, about twenty or so, were tied in a dark blue bow, sitting off by the side of the desk while the other…

Draco tried to choke down his chuckle as he said a silent thanks to all the paper and ink that were sacrificed in the name of warmth, good health, and plain amusement. With a good serving of spite.

_**That, I'll touch upon another day, don't you worry about that. And possibly with our family lawyer and the judge if you keep pushing me. However, that's not the point of this letter.** _

_**I heard from Pansy about the "special" class you enrolled our son in.** _

Of course.

Of course.

Of goddamn fucking course.

 _Goddamn Parkinson!_ Draco nearly crushed the letter in his hand and used his free hand on rub along his temples, feeling a migraine dig in the center of his head and stretch out like a spiked plant.

Always Pansy. Always Pansy begged to be included in whatever Draco was planning something. Always, after multiple pleas and cries and threats, he finally gave in and shared with her the big secret. And always he regretted sharing a good five seconds later when Pansy's big mouth cracked.

He didn't know whether in that moment he should be disappointed in her for once again opening that infamous big mouth of hers or in himself for knowing and seeing how that notorious big mouth worked but still deciding to trust her with this secret. Despite every instinct screaming at him not to, despite knowing how easily and quickly Pansy cracked under pressure, despite how the two women remained friends even though the divorce between Astoria and Draco was….nasty to say the least.

Draco made a mental note to strangle his so-called trusted friend when he next saw her.

_**When she told me, I thought that she was kidding, like some kind of early April fool's joke. But then she mentioned Scorpius's excitement, going on and on about the class. How you took him shopping for new clothes last weekend, letting him pick all sort of slippers and tights and the works. And the date.** _

Bare hands. He was going to strangle Pansy with his bare hands and enjoy every second of her struggling.

_**I don't know whether you've finally, completely, and utterly lost your mind-which wouldn't surprise me one damn bit since signs of your malfunctioning brain cells was displayed during our engagement and all three years of our marriage. How I wished I listened to reason and took the signs to see that I was being married to a psychopath.** _

He paused in his reading to let out a snort. It took one to know one.

 _**Or maybe your mind is still convinced the war and the aftermath, particularly the cost of the Malfoy name never happened in the first place. That somehow you, the name, and everything is untouchable now as it was back then. If so, then do me, and more importantly your son, a good favor and wake up. The Malfoy name is in ruin, Draco.** _ _**Ruin!** _

Yup, underline and exclamations points and all. As if the word didn't pack enough punch in his gut, she decided to fire it with extra emphasize.

_**And now it's associated with scrutiny and damnation.** _

_**It's one thing for the scrutiny to target you. You had over a decade to deal with it. Scorpius is different. He's only a child, and this was the type of arsenal the press would have a field day spinning with it.** _

_**For Merlin's sake, Draco, of all thing you decided to, enrolling Scorpius in a ballet-** _

The rest of the sentence, along with the additional three pages (written in front and back in bleeding black ink) were tossed into the fireplace. Draco watched the flames eat away at the corners like a fiery-red jaw, then the center, until it was nothing more than smoke and ashes. Once it was done, he settled back in his seat and covered his face with his hands, blocking out the too-early, too-bright sunshine pouring through the wide windows.

There were few people in Draco's life that could make Draco contemplate the idea of celebrating happy hour at an early hour. Quickly over the years, Astoria added herself to that list of people.

He glanced mournfully at the half-empty jug of firewhiskey he spent the previous night drinking as he thought over Scorpius's class, what he had done, and if he was doing the right thing. He usually cracked it open during the hard nights of reading over newspapers articles recording his every move whenever he needed to go to Diagon Alley or further demonizing the Malfoy name. Shredding the occasional Howler that somehow made its way through the protective wards, shrieking how many people died because of him and his cowardice, how he deserved to rot along with every single Death Eater in Azkaban. Or the hard nights when memories and nightmares burnt into his head, clawing through his brain and the only way to tame it was a glass or several of whiskey.

Such as a body floating over the dining table he spent so many nights as a child eating meals, pleading to him, to Severus to save her, and then crashing to the table. Killed by a flash of green light before a snake slide across the table and made her corpse their dinner.

The Dark Lord glancing at him, crimson red eyes burning bright in madness and cruelty.

Wild flames surrounding him, closing in, ready to devour him the way the snake had his old teacher, and an outstretched hand reaching out to him.

 _No!_ Draco sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, shaking his head as if he could erase the final image. No. No, no, no. That wasn't the problem.

The real problem was, other than guessing correctly what kind of havoc would wreak when he opened his ex-wife's letter, was the content of the letter. Much as it pained him to admit it, what Astoria said was no different than what Pansy said when she pried the truth out of him. What Mother said when he pitched the idea over their last family dinner, with Scorpius confirming it a second later with a bright smile Draco couldn't bear to crush, even if the wine and every bite he managed to choke down were churning madly in his stomach. What Father said through his long, heavy silence as he glanced from one to the other, that familiar vein bulging out alongside his left temple that not only worsened the churning in Draco's stomach, but also made fear crawl up his spine.

That this was too far. That his usual, endearing, Daddy-spoiling ways had tipped over to a dangerous line.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Loud, rapid footsteps growing louder and louder as they galloped down the stairs, down the hall. By the time, Draco looked up, his door was swung open, slapping against the door with a loud whack, and he was slammed against his chair as a small body crashed into him, knocking the air from his lungs.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Scorpius cried, as if he wasn't currently wiggling and bouncing against Draco's chest.

It took everything in Draco's willpower to keep any hint of or crack of amusement or softness break through his expression as he stared down at the small, happy face. He mustered every ounce of his father's sternness as he said, "Scorpius."

It must have worked because the smile on boy's face slipped away from his face, replaced with pink-flushed nervousness as he ducked his head, pouting.

"What," Draco said. "Is one of the five rules in this household?"

He mumbled the words so low under his breath, that even with their close proximity, it was a struggle for Draco to hear them.

"Repeat," he ordered.

No running in the house." Scorpius mumbled a tad bit louder.

"And what were you just doing?"

Scorpius ducked his head even lower.

No, that won't do. That won't do at all. Draco placed a finger underneath Scorpius's chin and titled his head up, forcing the younger boy to meet his eyes. Nervous grayish-blue eyes looked back at him, and Draco kept his expression stern for a full minute until a smile finally cracked through the stony exterior.

At the sight of the smile, nervousness vanished and was replaced by excitement. Scorpius jumped at him once more, arms wrapped around his neck, squeezing the breath out of him.

"How can such a tiny baby be so strong?" Draco wheezed.

Scorpius giggled.

Draco huffed in annoyance, which made Scorpius giggle even more. Which, in turn, made Draco smile as he cupped his face and pressed their foreheads together, a bonding gesture they've been doing since Scorpius was born.

"Is it time yet? Can we go? Can we? Can we?" Scorpius started bouncing on Draco's lap, and he had to grip onto his son to keep him from toppling over.

"In a bit. I was just…" Draco wondered if he should mention the letter from Astoria. Things were already strain between Scorpius and his mother. If he found out what his mother had said, things would get worse. "Finishing some paperwork."

"But I wanna go now!" The last bit broke off into a whine, one that must had sounded much like his own when Draco was his age.

"And you will. In a few minutes."

"But I'm already dressed. See." Scorpius practically stood on Draco's lap and gestured towards his outfit.

Sniffling a chuckle, Draco ran his eyes over Scorpius's clothes. A white t-shirt paired with black tights with a puffy purplish-blue tutu.

" _For Merlin's Sake, Draco!_ " He heard his father growled. " _I had no idea I had a daughter for an heir instead of a son._ "

Draco shook away the fragment memory to focus on the present. "I can see that." Another quick revealed, "And I see you're also not wearing any shoes."

Unless there was suddenly a new dress code he wasn't aware of.

Scorpius's face was flushed as he looked down. In a flash, he was off Draco's lap and out the door, laughing in between excited shouts as he went.

The chuckle Draco held in earlier was let out in a wheeze as he watched him go. At just seven years old, Scorpius was a menace with endless energy. Merlin help him when he got older. Despite it though, he had been the brightest spot in Draco's life since he was born.

Which was why he was so conflicted about these classes. On one hand, Scorpius had be wanting to take dance lessons since nearly forever. On the other hand…

Draco's stomach clenched at the various headlines he could see Skeeter spinning if she caught a whiff of it.

Bad. It would very, very bad if a word got out.

**~…..~**

Draco felt naked.

Despite the layers of clothes he had on, despite the sunglasses that covered most of my face, he still felt naked.

After he digested Astoria's letter that still felt a bad taste in his mouth, he took great pains in choosing his wardrobe carefully for the bed. Days before, he got his hands on a few Muggle magazines some of the healers had brought over to the children's ward for the patients to make collages. He was intrigued by the simple fashion of their suits and jeans, even if they did pale in comparison to the most of the clothes he had in his own closet. However he had needed inspiration on what exactly he should wear.

Draco knew there was a chance he might track unwanted attention, so he wanted to make things as smooth as he could. A white t-shirt that he covered with a light blue sweater hoodie thing the sales girl called it, dark blue jeans, and white sneakers. Along with black shades and the hood pulled over his head. He even thought of possibly using a wig or temporary coloring to disguise the platinum white-blond hair, but decided that would be too much.

Simple and unremarkable. Only he wished he did the same he took the same precautions for adding more layers to his wardrobe.

As another slap of strong wind torn through the city, easily piercing through his sweatshirt, Draco cursed himself for not taking Blaise and Pansy's warnings on the New York City's weather. Pointedly described in one word: hell. Hell in the summers when it felt like a bone-dry desert, and double that hell in the winter time, where one was reintroduced to the meaning of cold.

Funny, though, how they didn't mentioned November being part of the winter package. Draco stifled another groan as he was hit by another slice of cold air that nearly skinned his skin. He tucked his left hand underneath his elbow and held himself tighter, as if it could spark extra warmth. His right hand was being used as a leash to keep his energetic son close by and not dive into traffic, his poor arm and socket being stretched thin from the number of times Scorpius tugged him along.

Unlike his poor, suffering Father, Scorpius seemed immune to the cold, wearing just a black jacket over his shirt and tights. He managed to be talked out of the tutu, which was a blessing, but Scorpius refused to be parted from his unmistaken ballet flats.

 _Stubborn little boy_ , Draco thought half-exasperated yet entirely fondly.

He wondered if it was a blessing or a curse that of all the traits Scorpius inherited from him, it was his iron-forged stubbornness that was ten times worse than his own when he was younger.

Initially Draco worried about what others would think when they saw Scorpius and his shoes. So far people were too occupied with their phones, their devices, their tiny ear buds to notice much of anything else, much less what the stranger besides them was wearing them. At least that was the attitude of most. For others, noticeably men-even a few women-who looked to be around Father's age had their faces drawn tight as they glanced down and noticed the shoes.

Whenever this happened, Draco took a protective step forward as he tugged Scorpius close to his side and patted his head. The touch affectionate and soft, while the glare he aimed at the bastard was anything else, delivered with that infamous sneer that made lower-year Hogwarts students nearly wet their pants. He'd stare long and hard, teeth bared, until they finally looked away.

_That's right, buggar. Eyes forward._

_Well_ , piped that voice that sounded eerily similar to Father's, flat and brittle. _What exactly did you expect when you let your son leave the son like that?_

Draco did his best to ignore that voice and continued forward, doubling his stride. All while resisting the urge to hide the shoes completely from sight-or change them into something that was more sensible.

Along with his researching what sort of clothes were appropriate to wear, he also spent double that time to finding the right ballet studio to enroll Scorpius. Ones that were over fifty years old immediately got cut, positive Scorpius would be faced by narrow-minded traditionalists who'd disapprove of a male student. Next that were cut were well-known, popular studios that might come to mind if someone happened to find out the truth. Away and away, the number of possible studios were cut to just one that seemed to check off every single requirement Draco wanted.

Small. Around twelve years old, meaning it wasn't too old for Draco to worry about old-fashion incompetence but at the same time was young enough to avoid traditionalism. Not too widely-known, so Draco didn't need to worry about snoops dropping by. Yet all the time, was known in enough circles for Draco to find a good number of glowing reviews on the school's website and Google.

_First Step Dance Studio._

Wasn't too crazy about the name, but Scorpius's excitement was overwhelming when he looked over at the printed pictures of the studio was enough for Draco to overlook that little fluke.

While the two-story brick building didn't much for Draco, not in the pictures during his research and not in person as he stood in front of it, other than him nearly mistaking it another apartment complex, the inside was definitely more intrigued. There were a few pictures of dancers framed along the wall. Screenshoots of what looked to be a massive performance, possibly one from the holidays. But what really captured Draco's attention was the paintings spread along the lower walls, breaking apart the bright white texture with colors.

Beautiful girls transforming into swans, the white skirts shifting into feathers. Evil queens, enveloped in cocoons of green flames. Two princes locked in a deadly dance, swords drawn. Two princesses, hands clasped, leaning in for a kiss. They weren't at all like the wizarding pictures, but the pop of color, the sharp detail mad them feel alive.

"Who did these paintings?" Draco asked the petite Indigenous woman who was leading them down the hall, over to Scorpius's class that was already in session.

"The person who's the reason you're standing here," she dryly replied.

Charming one, that one.

"You're lucky that you managed to snag a spot into the class. Small as we may be, we do have an extensive waiting list." She looked over her shoulder to level Draco with a glare that could've matched Pansy's. "Of parents and guardians who have a better understanding on the concept of what patience is."

Draco replied to the look with a brittle smile to match her glare. "We're counting our blessings, as I mentioned several times before when you brought it up."

Leah-that was her name-and Draco already a relationship of sorts before today. A snarky, bantering one.

When Draco found the studio and tried to get Scorpius in, he didn't anticipate the massive boulder blocking his path that would be enrollment management. Nothing swayed Leah to bypass the deadline that passed two weeks earlier. Not Draco's pleas to make Scorpius's dancing dream come true. Not his need to give an impressionable little boy the ultimate Christmas present. Not even the overly-outrageous generous of payment Draco was willing to make, double to triple the usual student fee.

"The deadline," Leah had repeated for the tenth time-and yes, Draco kept count of the numbers she shot him back with the following words. "was two weeks ago and we currently aren't accepting new students. If you really want your son to learn ballet, then either enroll him over at a different ballet studio-"

"I'd rather not." Draco interrupted.

"Or wait until Match, in which we'll be accepting applications for the spring semester."

Which was months away and entirely unacceptable.

"As I told you, Ms. Leah," Draco nearly shouted, and then lowered his voice, aware of how Scorpius's eyes swung from his coloring book over to him. Shooting him a quick smile, Draco struggled to keep his voice even, aware that Scorpius's eyes were focused on him. "As I told you, Ms. Leah that would be unacceptable."

Over the phone, Draco heard the unmistakable click of her tongue that was like a poker into the fireplace. The gesture reminded him too much of McGonagall, ears falling deaf to whatever complaints any non-Gryffindor student, mainly Slytherin, brought over to her. Her iron-clad attachments to the rules reminded him of Granger. Two memories to a life he didn't want to remember.

"Yes," Leah nodded in the present as she led them through another hallway. "I also hope you're aware that the only reason you gained a spot is because of a generous bean."

Scorpius dove in-a good thing, because Draco felt a seething response brewing in his tongue, ready to launch. "You mean, my dancing teacher? Mr. Evans?"

Leah's glare melted into a small, kind smile. "The very same one. Who's looking forward to meeting you."

A bright grin spilt Scorpius's face and tamed some of Draco's irritation that was beginning to flare up again.

Along with the fact that this Mr. Evans who persuaded Leah to change her mind would be the same one leading Scorpius's class.

"Here we are." Leah stopped in front of a wooden door and turned the golden knob, pushing it open.

Scorpius's eyes practically gleamed like stars as he took tentative steps in, as if it were his heaven.

Draco wasn't too quickly entranced like Scorpius, thanks to the sheer amount of sweat and powder that hung heavily in the air, trickling his nose so badly that he felt a sneeze building up.

Once the urge passed away, Draco took in a deep breath and examined the room.

It seemed to fit his mind of how the usual dance studios looked. Ones he even-Draco shook his head, cutting off the thought before it grew into a full one, and continued on with his inspection.

There were the standard light-brown wooden floors that stretched out like an ocean. Wall length mirrored walls stretching from the left to the front with barres posted by the mirrored wall to the side. Littered around the floor were kids already dressed in black their leotards and soft pink and purple tutus. Draco's heart sank a bit when he didn't spot any others boys besides older brothers sitting with mothers by the side, but his spirits were soothed by the welcoming smiles and curious looks some of Scorpius's playmates tossed his way.

And-oh. _Oh ho ho ho_.

Draco's throat went dry as he noticed a figure that was positioned by the front of the room, wedged between the front mirror and the group of kids, upper body bent over his legs that were laid out in front of him. A figure who seemed to be entirely, innocently unaware how every slow stretch he was pulling with his limbs was doing dangerous things to Draco and his blood pressure.

"And there he is," Leah grinned-or at least, Draco was sure she was grinning. By the light tone of her voice, it seemed so. He wasn't sure though since all his attention was focused on the teacher. "The man of the hour."

What a man he was. A man with quality aspects, such as the lean arms and back ripple with muscle that his sleeveless blue shirt was showing off. His legs clad in gray pants that were too tight to be sweats but also too loose to be called tights, dropping enough hints on what laid underneath, further testing his blood pressure. And his hair, his inky-black shaggy hair that was pulled into a messy bun.

"Mr. Evans, we got a new one."

"Thanks, Leah," replied the teacher as he lowered his arms, turned around, and strode over to them.

Later, Draco would curse himself until his voice went hoarse for being such an idiot and not picking up the signs, the details. Later on, he'd curse himself for putting the pieces together and leaving with Scorpius before they could be spotted. Later on, he'd wonder why the hell fate seemed so determined to remind him how truly rotten his life was.

All of that and more would occur later. At the moment, though, all Draco could do was stare as he felt his stomach dissolving.

Shaggy, messy black hair he remembered thinking was better suited for a bird's nest all those years in school. Skin that was a light, honeyed-gold. Bright green eyes that were free of those hideous black specks and twice as captivating.

" _Training for the ballet-"_ Words spoken so snarky, smugly years ago, during a time where things were simple rose resurfaced in Draco's head.

" _Potter?!_ " Draco squawked like a brainless idiot.

Mr. Evans- Potter- _Goddamn Harry Scarhead Golden Boy Potter_ -looked at Draco. His stare so long, so loaded yet unreadable that Draco felt heat creeping along his body like spiders. For a full minute, he stared, a slight frown tugging at his mouth until he finally said:

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

Draco's jaw dropped right to the floor.


End file.
